Chapter 19, Part 1
1065 Words
(26 years ago …)
It was the same as always. The shinobi Gorō wasn’t all that surprised, really. He’s seen it all before. While Yashima has several fertile regions known for its agricultural produce and seafood, some regions have had their share of natural disasters. Like typhoons, locust infestations - and droughts. During such tragic events, disease and starvation inevitably followed, like mourners in a funeral procession.
And because the people of these affected regions are desperate not to be in their own funeral processions, panic and desperation have made people become almost animal-like as they frantically find ways to survive and maybe even have a bite to eat.
Those were some of the thoughts that went through the young Gorō’s mind as he wandered through a small seaside village that was located in one of the worst-hit drought-stricken areas. While there was nothing to plant, much less harvest in this miserable place, the Yamanoha clan looked forward to their own harvest. While there those who were born and raised within the clan since birth, there were other ways to increase their numbers. During such periods, starving families will sell unwanted children to whoever will buy them.
Recruiting time … Gorō thought grimly.
Of course, they weren’t the only ones looking for “recruits”. Others, namely merchants or craftsmen, basically anyone with enough coins, haunt such lowly villages looking for potential servants or apprentices. Such people were easy to spot. They were often more conspicuously dressed in garishly colored robes, spoke in loud voices and drove hard bargains. But there were also a good number of people who looked and dressed respectably enough. These people were those who were in an honest search for suitable servants or hopefully teachable apprentices. And if they were lucky enough to find a suitable child, when the bargaining process was often short, with the sellers willing to accept any price as long as they can buy enough rice to fill their gnawing stomachs.
And it was thus that Gorō and the other shinobi disguised themselves as men from the middle class, passing themselves off as farmers who own a nearby cotton plantation. They wore plain homespun kimonos and sturdy walking sandals. Everyone else took them on their word and didn’t question their identities. Blending into the crowd and not standing out in any way is second nature to them.
“Next village is beyond that rise,” his companion and fellow shinobi, Shuya, said.
The two men have been traveling for days, roaming the villages located along coastline. Most of its inhabitants were either fishermen or farmers, sometimes a bit of both. So far, they haven’t had much luck. Some have gone ahead of them, while those that were left behind didn’t look all that promising.
“Hope we’ll have better luck here,” Gorō replied.
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Looks like I spoke too soon … if anything, this village is even more pathetic than the last one!
Upon arriving at one of the last of the most miserable hovels in the outskirts of the village, the two shinobi thought to just have a quick look around and leave. The hovel was looked so shabby and rundown it looked uninhabited, and even fooled their well-trained heightened senses.
“Let it be, Gorō,” Shuya said, tugging at his fellow shinobi’s sleeve.
“No harm in taking a quick peek, Shuya. Wouldn’t want Master Jin to chew us out for not doing a thorough job.”
“Well, I’m not sensing anything there.”
“Same here. But who knows?”
“Look, the only things that would be living inside that pile would most likely be a skinny stray dog or rats.”
“What harm can there be if I poke my head inside for a bit? It’s not like it’s going to delay us, Shuya.”
“Suit yourself then.”
Gorō poked his head inside what could be the entrance the most ramshackle, tumbledown bamboo shack he has ever seen. On its left side lay what seemed like remnants of a door. Inside, it was completely dark and empty, and smelled of dried piss, a combination of human and animal feces, and dried mud. The air was also thick with floating specks of dust. Unable to stand it a second more, Gorō made to remove his head so he could gulp some fresh air when …
Something stirred … followed by an almost undetectable soft whimper … another sound followed, this one seeing to be the movement of a head … or hand …
“Hello …”
A woman’s voice! A very faint one, but a human voice nonetheless. But it was the voice of someone rapidly fading, dying …
And then came another voice. This time, the cry of a child …. a very, very weak one …
Gorō gave a start and went out. Shuya took one look at the serious cast on his fellow shinobi’s face and knew he jumped to a hasty conclusion.
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Stepping carefully inside and picking their way through the piles of garbage and what appeared to remnants of tables and chairs, their eyes quickly adjusted to the dark interior of the hut. Shuya lit a pinewood torch so they could have a better look around.
A lone woman, thin to the point of looking more like a skeleton than a person sat, huddled in a dusty corner. Dry, matted hair covered her face and her cotton robe looked more like rags than clothing. On her lap lay a baby who looked to be about a year old. Remarkably, the child seemed strong and robust. He looked at the two strangers in a quiet and intense way that was remarkable for one so young, and seemed to be closely observing them. Even in the weak light from the torch, they could both see the child’s eyes were remarkable shade of dark grey, with tints of silver.
But one look at the woman, and the two shinobi knew she won’t have any use for the silver coins they would have paid for her boy.
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They never knew her name. And the woman was too weak to even bother to tell them. But she did remember to utter the name of her son as she surrendered the child to them.
“His name is Kai …”
- Writer
